Back Track

by Jason Dean

  ‘These warehouses all look fairly big to me,’ Vallejo said.

  ‘Too close to each other. Kate said Olander’s got himself a little more privacy.’

  They tried the next road, which also sloped down at a slightly deeper gradient. Bishop saw three warehouses on the left, all broken up into smaller units, each with its own shuttered entrance. The first warehouse on the right was a sheet metal manufacturing business. Next to that was another one with a large For Lease sign affixed to the side. After that was a large lot, empty except for several parked cars, two abandoned truck trailers and three large dumpsters.

  But at the end of the road, at the bottom of the gradient, Bishop also saw another warehouse with no immediate neighbours surrounding it.

  ‘That looks promising,’ Vallejo said.

  ‘Just what I was thinking.’

  Bishop turned into the vacant lot and saw the parked cars weren’t parked, they were abandoned. There were four of them, all rusted by the looks of it. They either had flat tyres or no tyres at all. Further along, the trailers looked to be in a bad way, too. Clearly, this lot was a designated dumping ground. Which made it a perfect vantage point for Bishop. He parked next to one of the cars facing the end warehouse and turned off the engine.

  The moon was approaching its last quarter, so visibility was reasonable. He took the scope from his pocket and pointed it down the hill. The warehouse was at least two storeys and took up a much larger area than the others. A large section of the south wall facing them was made up of a huge door that would have looked more at home on an aircraft hangar. There were also two smaller, windowless buildings to the left and right of the warehouse, with shutters instead of doors. The entire plot took up four or five acres, maybe. There was six-foot high cyclone fencing all round, with razor wire on top. There were no lights anywhere on the premises, not even spotlights. There were about fifteen vehicles parked in an area out front, close to the left-hand building. Bishop didn’t see any guards on patrol.

  He took out his cell, called Kate and put it on speakerphone. When she picked up, he said, ‘It’s Bishop. I forgot to ask you what kind of car Olander drives.’

  ‘Well, he owns two that I know of,’ she said. ‘A BMW and one of those big Jaguars. Olander’s a bit of an Anglophile so he usually prefers the Jag. It goes hand in hand with his fake mid-Atlantic accent.’

  Bishop thanked her and ended the call. He adjusted the scope’s magnification to get a better look. One of the vehicles down there definitely looked like a Jag. One of the big XJ models. Probably the only one for hundreds of miles. They weren’t exactly common.

  He passed Vallejo the scope and she took a look. ‘Hmm, looks like Olander’s taking care of business personally tonight,’ she said. ‘I don’t see any of those vans, though.’

  ‘Maybe they keep them inside.’ Just then, he saw a gleam of light in the rear-view and said, ‘Somebody’s coming.’

  They both lowered themselves and waited as a car passed by. Bishop then got up and looked through the scope. He watched the car follow the road until it stopped at the fence. A man in a suit got out and walked up to the front gate. Bishop now noticed a small keypad on a pole. The man stood in front of it, blocking Bishop’s vision, and a few seconds later the gate slowly opened. Very slowly. The man impatiently kicked at it, then got back in his car.

  So the fence wasn’t electrified. That was puzzling. Bishop had expected more security. Or maybe they thought the razor wire was enough. Surveillance cameras were a possibility, but he couldn’t see how that would work without some kind of exterior lighting. Unless they were using thermal imaging cameras. But it seemed unlikely. Decent T.I. cameras were beyond most people’s budgets and they’d need a lot of them to cover such a large area. And what would be the point? It would be easier and more economical to install some muted lighting and use normal night-time cameras.

  Bishop didn’t really know what to think just yet. Not without more information.

  Once there was enough space, the driver drove through the gap in the direction of the other parked cars. Bishop kept the scope on the gate and saw it close as slowly as it had opened. He tracked the car again and saw it come to a stop in the parking area. The driver got out. Another man got out the passenger side. Bishop noticed movement to the left of the main warehouse and then another man emerged from the shadows. He was wearing a guard’s uniform and a side holster. He approached the two men and they had a brief conversation. Then they all walked into the shadows of the main warehouse and disappeared from sight.

  Bishop lowered the scope. ‘Looks like Saturday night’s a work night,’ he said.

  ‘No rest for the wicked,’ Vallejo said and glanced in the side mirror. ‘Shit, here comes another one.’

  They both ducked down briefly as the vehicle passed. Bishop saw it was a van this time. No way to tell the make from the back, but it looked similar to the one in the footage. The driver, another man, performed the same routine on the gate and drove on through. He parked next to the previous car, and the security guard emerged from the deep shadows again. The driver got out to talk to him, while another man exited the van’s rear door. Bishop saw him motion to somebody inside and then a woman stepped out onto the tarmac. Then another woman, with her arms wrapped tight around her chest, followed by a third man who shut the door. They were too far away for Bishop to make out any features other than gender. Then they all walked towards the main warehouse, the third man closely behind the two women.

  Bishop passed the scope to Vallejo, who looked for a few seconds and said, ‘If body language means anything, I’d say those women would very much like to be anywhere but here. What do you think they’ve been doing?’

  ‘Who knows?’ he said.

  Vallejo nodded. ‘Maybe it’s . . .’ she began, and stopped at the muffled, tinny sound of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons coming from the glove compartment. ‘That’s not me,’ she said.

  ‘Me neither.’ Bishop reached over to open the glove compartment and the music filled the car interior. Inside was a hands-free unit for his cell, a new toothbrush he’d bought earlier and Abraham’s iPhone, pulsing with light. He pulled out the phone. There was no number displayed on the screen. Obviously withheld.

  He looked at Vallejo, then took the call.

  SIXTY-THREE

  ‘Abraham?’ the male voice said. ‘Where are you? You’re late.’

  Bishop gave a noncommittal grunt to give himself more breathing space. He was thinking back to Abraham’s voice pattern, wondering if there had been a hint of Kansas or Missouri in there, when the caller said, ‘Who is this?’

  ‘Abraham,’ Bishop said in what he hoped was the right pitch.

  ‘I don’t think so. He’s never been the grunting type. Where is he?’

  ‘Disneyland,’ Bishop said in his own voice. ‘Poor guy needed a break.’

  There was a second’s pause. Then, ‘You’re Bishop.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘So what shall I call you?’

  ‘My name’s not important,’ the man said. The clipped voice came with a slight echo behind it. He sounded amused. In control. Which he clearly was at present. Bishop hated him already.

  ‘In that case, why don’t I just call you Merv? There was a kid in high school by that name who got caught flashing in the girls’ toilets one time. Your voice reminds me of him.’

  The man sighed. ‘Sticks and stones, Bishop. You’ll have to do better than that.’

  ‘Sticks and stones were all I needed to deal with Abraham. Might make more of an effort when you and I meet up, though.’

  The man snorted. ‘Do you want some friendly advice?’

  ‘Love some.’

  ‘Disappear,’ he said. ‘You may think you’re a threat to me, but you’re not. Not even close. Believe me, you’re totally out of your league on this, so your best bet is to go home and forget all about it.’

  ‘Sounds like great advice. Oh, just one thing, thou
gh. Selina has to come with me.’

  ‘Selina? Oh, you mean Sonja Addison.’ He chuckled. ‘Yeah, I know all about her real history. You’d be surprised at how successful we are at getting people to pour out their secrets. As for letting her go, well, that’s not really possible at this late stage. Not now that everything’s been squared away. You understand.’

  ‘Sure,’ Bishop said. ‘I can’t really walk away, either. I’ve just realized I can’t have you breathing the same air as me. Especially not after what you did to her mother.’

  The man chuckled again. ‘You heard about that, did you? Well, that’s life for you. Just goes to show you can get killed cross—’

  Bishop pressed the red button and dropped the phone back in the glove compartment. He wouldn’t get anything else from the bastard except more empty threats and smug retorts, so why prolong things?

  Vallejo said, ‘Who was that? Olander?’

  ‘Not unless he’s lost his mid-Atlantic accent. But he sounded like a man clearly used to giving orders and having those orders obeyed. Maybe a partner of some kind. Olander might have provided the seed money and the clout, but the guy on the phone is running things. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘So you get anything useful from the conversation?’

  Bishop shrugged. ‘Not much. There was a slight echo when he spoke, so I got the impression he was in a room with a high ceiling.’

  ‘Like a warehouse?’

  ‘Could be. Also, he used the term everything’s been squared away.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So that’s not normal-speak. Your average person might say “arranged” or “taken care of”. But not “squared away”. I’ve never heard that one used outside the Marine Corps.’

  ‘You’re right. I’ve heard my dad use the phrase sometimes, but that’s about it.’ Vallejo frowned. ‘Does that make a difference?’

  ‘Not sure. I know Abraham was ex-navy.’ He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. ‘I guess it just means that I’m likely to be up against some well-trained men.’

  Vallejo turned to him. ‘You mean we’ll be up against them.’

  ‘That’s what I said. We.’

  SIXTY-FOUR

  At 23.27, Bishop saw two men emerge from the shadows of the warehouse and walk towards the parked cars. He grabbed the scope from the dash and said, ‘Wake up, Vallejo. We got something.’

  ‘I am awake,’ she said. ‘Just resting my eyes, that’s all.’

  ‘Sure.’ He looked through the eyepiece and saw both men were making plenty of arm movements. Looked like they were arguing about something. One of them had very light hair. Possibly white or light grey. The other looked nondescript from this range. He handed the scope to Vallejo. ‘One of them could be Olander.’

  She looked in silence for a few moments, fought a yawn, then handed it back to Bishop. ‘Looks like it. We’ll know for sure in a second.’

  Bishop put the scope to his eye again. The two men were just standing there, about twenty feet from the cars. Still arguing. Then the light-haired man shook his head and walked over to his car, while the other man watched.

  The light-haired man got into the Jag and pulled away as the other man walked back to the warehouse. The front gate opened automatically when the Jag was within a few feet of it, and as soon as there was enough space he drove through. Bishop kept the scope on the front windshield all the way. When he was about to pass by, Bishop could see from the Jag’s dashboard illumination that it was the same man as in the photo.

  ‘Now there’s a man clinging to the past,’ Vallejo said. ‘Check out the vanity plate.’

  Bishop lowered the scope and got a flash of the licence plate. AZMAYOR.

  ‘Real subtle,’ Bishop said. ‘I guess it must make him feel important.’

  He aimed the scope down the hill again. The gate was closed. The man had retreated back into the building. Everything was still.

  Vallejo turned to him. ‘Frightened women arriving with escorts. Armed guards. Security fencing all around. Grant Olander on site. I don’t know about you, Bishop, but this is looking more and more like the place.’

  But was Selina in there? That was the question foremost in Bishop’s mind. He leaned his elbow on the armrest and rubbed a palm over his buzz cut. ‘Hmm,’ he said.

  ‘And what does “hmm” mean?’

  ‘It means I need more intel. I don’t like the thought of going in blind and there’s only one way to solve that.’

  Vallejo gave a single bark of laughter. ‘There it is. I knew you brought me out here for a reason. Don’t tell me. I’m picked for lookout duty. And here I was, actually believing we were gonna go in together.’

  Bishop sighed. ‘And we will, Vallejo. This is just a recon. I’m not prepared for anything more than that right now.’

  ‘Sure. And what if you happen to see Selina in there? You telling me you’ll just leave her where she is and come back out again?’

  ‘That’s something I can’t answer until I get an idea of the layout. If she’s in there and she’s under the watch of a single guard and I think I’ve got a chance, then yeah, I might try and bring her out. But only if I think I can do it without getting us both killed in the process. I’ve come too far to risk her life unnecessarily with a half-assed rescue attempt.’

  Vallejo watched him for a moment, then nodded. ‘Okay, but what if there are surveillance cameras? They’ll make you the moment you get over the fence.’

  He shook his head. ‘Night-time cameras need ambient light to work with, and I don’t see any lights out there.’

  ‘But you don’t know.’

  ‘No, I don’t. But that’s why I’ve got you here.’

  Vallejo gave a deep sigh. ‘Why do I get the feeling you had this planned from the start, Bishop? And why am I the lookout?’

  Bishop reached over, opened the glove compartment again and pulled out the hands-free cable with microphone and earpiece. ‘Because you got better night vision than me,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, yeah? How do you figure that?’

  ‘I saw you driving last night, remember? With no lights. In the dark. Like it was day. Or am I wrong?’

  She shrugged. ‘You’re not wrong. My dad always said I was born with the eyes of a cat. So we going to keep in contact by cell phone? That’s pretty low-tech, isn’t it?’

  ‘You can only work with what you’ve got.’

  ‘And what about the armed guards? You given them any thought?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said and pulled the Sig out from under the seat. He checked the magazine again. It still held fifteen rounds, with one in the pipe. Same as the last time he’d checked.

  ‘Don’t suppose you got a licence for that thing.’

  He blinked at her. ‘Would it make any difference?’

  She smiled. ‘I guess not. You know as soon as you use it, the whole world’ll come crashing down on you.’

  ‘If I have to use it, everything’s already gone to hell. This is strictly for insurance. But I learned long ago it’s better to have a gun and not need it than the other way round.’

  ‘Right out of the police manual,’ she said. ‘So when you going in?’

  ‘The moment somebody else opens that gate.’

  SIXTY-FIVE

  It was 02.07 when Bishop heard Vallejo whisper in his ear, ‘Heads up, we’ve got company.’ He looked to his left and two seconds later spotted the faint hint of headlights coming his way.

  ‘I see it,’ he whispered into the microphone, and turned his face away in order to retain his night vision. He just concentrated on the sound of the tyres crunching along the road as the vehicle got closer.

  Bishop was lying flat, next to the fence, about twenty-five feet to the right of the front gate. Far enough away for an approaching car’s headlights not to reach him. He had the ski mask on, so all anyone looking would see was a black mass on the ground. He hoped.

  ‘He’s about thirty feet from the gate,’ Vallejo whispered. ‘Two-door sedan of some
kind. I can only see the driver in there. Twenty feet.’

  ‘Copy that.’ Bishop just lay there. Waiting. Listening. The sound of the engine became steadily louder until the vehicle came to a halt. A door opened. No other sounds. Guy was probably wearing sneakers. Or shoes with rubber soles. Like Bishop.

  ‘He’s putting in the code now. And no, I can’t make it out.’

  Bishop smiled under the mask. After a few moments he heard the sound of a lock being disengaged, accompanied by an electronic whine. Then Bishop heard the car door slam shut. The engine idled for eleven more seconds before the driver began moving the car forward. The electronic humming continued. The sound of the engine grew fainter.

  ‘He’s heading left, towards the other parked cars.’

  Bishop moved his head and saw the vehicle’s rear lights getting smaller. The gate stopped moving.

  ‘No sign of the guard yet,’ Vallejo said.

  The electronic hum started up again and the gate began to close.

  ‘I still don’t see him,’ she said. ‘Come on, you . . . Okay, there he is. Approaching from the left side of the warehouse. You should be able to see him any second now. He’s about two hundred yards from you. Gate’s half closed already. You’ve got a clear run. If you’re gonna move, better do it now.’

  He saw the guard in the distance with his back to Bishop. Just as Vallejo described. Bishop jumped to his feet and sprinted for the gate, covering the twenty-five feet in three seconds. He dived through the gap and kept rolling. He heard the gate click shut behind him, got up and kept running towards the right-hand building a hundred yards away. The length of a football field. Easy. He focused on the building and nothing else. Just went full out. He reached it fifteen seconds later, slightly out of breath, but still alert. Still ready for anything.